


A Dream Together

by profdanglais



Series: What Dreams May Come [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 00:37:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15718317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/pseuds/profdanglais
Summary: Killian Jones is stuck in the Enchanted Forest while the woman he loves in in New York with no memory of him. His only consolation is his dreams of her… dreams that are starting to seem disturbingly real. Meanwhile, Emma Swan is starting to have some disturbing dreams of her own.





	A Dream Together

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I had when I started thinking about what to write for Cocktober, but then it started writing itself and now I like it so much I don't want to hold on to it for another two months. Rated M but maybe E, because I still don't really know what the cutoff point is, but what I'm saying is that there's quite a lot of smutty smut.

The night was dark and largely silent, lit only by the stars and by the thin slice of a silvery moon, the only sounds made by the waves against the hull of the _Jolly Roger._ Killian sat at his desk, flask of rum in hand, idly digging his hook into the wood, tracing a pattern there. When he realised he was carving the outline of a bird with a long, elegant neck, he pulled his hook away and sighed.

_She’s gone, mate,_ he reminded himself, for what must be the thousandth time. _You’ve got to stop this_

Taking one last swig from the flask, he re-corked it and began preparing for bed. At least in his dreams he’d see her again, if only at the edges of his vision, dancing away from him as he reached for her. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than being awake knowing she was in another realm, out of his reach forever. Wearily, he lay back on his pillows and closed his eyes. Normally it took him time to relax enough for sleep to overcome him, but that night his lids had barely closed before he fell into a dream unlike any he’d ever dreamt before.

_They are on the beanstalk, and he sees her cut her hand on a jagged piece of woody vine. She doesn’t seem to notice. When they reach the top he bandages it for her, watching as awareness and reluctant interest dawn in her eyes as he flirts. He wants to kiss her as he had wanted to then, and this time he goes for it, knowing that he will wake seconds before his lips touch hers… but he doesn’t, and she tastes even better than he’d imagined, her lips hot and welcoming as she tilts her head and opens her mouth, her tongue tangling with his. He groans and suddenly they are in Neverland, devouring each other with hot, greedy kisses, the taste of his rum on her tongue driving him mad. Her hands grip his collar holding him tightly to her even as she pulls away from the kiss. He chases her lips with his and this time she lets him catch them, kissing him even more fiercely than before, letting go of his collar to slide her hands under his coat, pushing it from his shoulders. “Hook,” she whispers in his ear, “I want you.” He moans helplessly and tangles his fingers in her hair, his hook pressed into the small of her back so hard it must be painful, but she simply pulls him closer and purrs “I want you to fuck me,” and he wants that too, gods yes, more than he’s ever wanted anything in the whole of his long life, but not here, not against a rough tree or scrabbling in the dirt of the jungle floor, he won’t take her here… and they are in his cabin on the_ Jolly Roger _, in his bed, naked, she is straddling his hips, her head thrown back, golden hair wild and tumbling over her rosy tipped breasts, which are there within his reach— so he reaches, cupping one in his hand, stroking his thumb across her nipple and she moans. “Do that again,” she says, “that feels amazing,” and Killian marvels at how cooperative his subconscious is being but knows he must wake soon, this can’t last. Her hands slide down his chest as he fondles her breast, and then they are on his cock and he can’t believe he hasn’t woken yet. She strokes him once, twice, then lifts her hips and positions him at her entrance. “Any minute now,” he thinks, but no, she is sliding down onto him and he knows this is a dream but he swears he can feel her tight, wet heat around him, squeezing him as she begins to move. She rides him hard and he grasps her hips, fingers and hook digging into her soft skin as he thrusts up to meet her. She takes his hook and runs it across her body, bringing it down between her legs, just above where they are joined. “Touch me with it,” she demands, and he strokes the cool metal across her clit, making her moan. She’s about to come, and he’s close too, so close, and she leans down and takes his mouth again, kissing him deeply, her tongue in his mouth and her teeth on his lips and he explodes inside her, feeling her walls clench around him as she comes. She collapses on his chest and he wraps his arms tightly around her, his face in her hair, breathing her in, and he knows this is a dream —he thinks he knows it— but it feels so_ bloody _real._

Emma jerked awake, gasping and sweating, pleasure and release still coursing through her. _Did I just come in my sleep?_ she thought. _Well, that’s embarrassing. Must’ve been a hell of a dream_. She tried to remember, grasped at the wisps of the dream that danced just on the edge of her consciousness. She’d been climbing something, then in a jungle, then in a narrow bed in an odd, small room. There had been a man with her each time, the same man. She couldn’t quite remember his face, just a pair of bright blue eyes, a deep voice, a rough hand that felt amazing on her skin and something metal? Something sharp and dangerous that she’d somehow known wouldn’t hurt her. 

It had all felt so real. She squeezed her thighs together, prepared to swear that the dream man had been between them not moments before, stretching and filling her, his cock deep inside her, driving her to heights she would never have imagined possible. Which of course it wasn’t. It wasn’t possible that she’d just had hot sex with a pair of blue eyes attached to a man she couldn’t remember because she was here in her apartment in New York, alone. Of course she was.

_But maybe not for long,_ she thought, remembering her date from the night before. At least that man’s face she could picture in her mind. It was a nice enough face, nothing remarkable, but charming in the kind of dorky way that she actually really liked, with a wide smile and friendly eyes. Walsh was his name, from the furniture store. She could remember that too. So why did he seem so much less vivid than the faceless man from her dream?

Well, never mind, Walsh was perfectly nice and Henry liked him. She was going out with him again next week, and actually looking forward to it. The dream would fade, as they always did, and in the meantime she had to make the best she could of her reality.

 

Killian awoke slowly, his body sated but his mind troubled. He felt guilty and tainted. To take sexual pleasure from dreams of a woman who didn’t know him felt intrusive and wrong. It felt like a violation, and he cringed at the idea of what Emma would think if she knew. He had vowed in Storybrooke that he would live his life in a way that was worthy of her, even if she was lost to him forever he still wanted to be someone she could value. Yet here he was, failing at every test of his resolve, first by double crossing Ariel to get his ship back, now by coming into his sheets dreaming of Emma. Perhaps he’d never be anything but a pirate, he thought in disgust, taking what he wanted no matter whom it hurt.

He ran his hand down his face, unable to keep the images from his dream from flooding his mind. They were unusually vivid, as the entire dream had been, and also unusually for a dream he’d been aware somehow that he was dreaming. He had recognised as they’d climbed the dream beanstalk and kissed in the dream Neverland that they had been in those places before, with far different outcomes. And then finally on the dream ship, where in reality they had never been together, his favourite fantasy of her coming so almost-true, seeming so painfully real…

“Argh!” he growled, flinging himself out of bed and grabbing his clothes. _It was just a bloody dream_ , he told himself. _You need to stop obsessing. Emma is gone, this nonsense must end. For your own good, mate._

Grimly determined, he flung his coat around his shoulders and headed up to the deck to do some pirating.

 

One week later…  _Killian is in a room he’s never seen before, similar to the rooms he’d visited in Storybrooke but sleeker somehow, full of bright, soft furniture and plants in pots. The door opens and he turns to see Emma, her slim body sheathed in a red dress that makes his mouth go dry, her hair tousled around her beautiful face. He wants to grab her with greedy hands and never let go, but he resists.“Swan,” he manages to croak, “What are you doing here?”_

_Her eyes are wide. “Hook,” she breathes, like she’s just found something she thought was lost forever. “What are_ you _doing here? This is my apartment.”_

_“It is?” He turns to look out one of the windows, recognising the tall, grey buildings from his last visit to New York. “How the bloody hell did I—”_

_His words are cut off by her lips as she grabs his collar and pulls him to her, in a replay of Neverland. “I don’t care how you’re here or why,” she pants, breaking the kiss only long enough to wrap her arms around his neck and sink her fingers into his hair. “I only care that you’re here. I’ve missed you so much.”_

_She fuses her lips to his again and he is there to meet her, mating her tongue with his as he caresses her hair, tangling his fingers in it. They exchange deep, wet kisses for several long moments, drowning in the intense pleasure of each other’s mouths. She pulls away to catch her breath and trails kisses down his neck as he runs his hand and hook down her body, slipping them beneath the short skirt of her dress and pulling it up over her hips. He slides his hand between her legs and moans at the slick heat he finds there. “Gods, Emma, you’re so wet already.”_

_“I’m always wet around you,” she says. “It’s damned annoying.”_

_He chuckles and strokes her, rubbing his thumb over her clit and sliding two fingers inside her, curling them against her most sensitive spot. Her breathing is rough and frantic and she grips his shoulders desperately. “I want you inside me,” she moans._

_“I believe I’m already in—” he begins, but she cuts him off, her voice tinged with frustration._

_“Your cock, Hook,” she says, “I want it inside me. Now.” …. abruptly they are in a bed, a large one with soft, pale sheets. Their clothes are gone and they are twined around each other. “Where are we?” he asks, and she looks around._

_“I don’t recognise it,” she replies, “And I don’t care.”_

_She wraps her legs around his waist and he rubs his cock through her folds, coating it in her moisture before thrusting it inside her with one smooth stroke. She moans and digs her heels into his ass, her fingernails carving half-moons into the skin of his shoulders. He buries his hook into the wooden headboard for leverage as he thrusts hard and deep, his hand stroking down her body, over her hip and up her thigh then back down to curve around her ass and pull her hips even more tightly into his._

_“Fuck,” she gasps, “Fuck, yes, right there.”_

_She tightens her inner walls around him and he falters and bites back a curse, fighting off the release that threatens to break over him through sheer force of will. "Don’t do that again,” he growls, “if you want this to last.” He picks up the pace again, marvelling at how this could be happening, even in a dream. She feels so incredibly good around him, warm and wet, and her hair smells like sunshine and he_ loves _her, despite his best efforts not to, and he wants to stay buried inside her forever. But she’s making little choked noises in her throat and he knows she’s nearly there, so he brings his hand back up between their bodies and presses his thumb lightly against her clit then watches in awe as she shatters beneath him. He thrusts twice more, savouring the feeling of her quivering around him and then he follows her into oblivion._

 

Emma was still quivering when she awoke, immediately aware that another dream of the mysterious man had ended in another stunningly intense orgasm. She remembered this dream more clearly than the last, remembered everything, she thought, except the man’s face. She remembered how badly she’d wanted him, how astoundingly quickly he’d turned her on— a brush of his fingers over her hair, a stroke of his tongue against hers and she was dripping and desperate. She remembered how _right_ he’d felt inside her, how every touch of his body on hers had been exactly what she needed, what she desperately craved. _Thank fuck for dreams,_ she thought. _Sex like that doesn’t happen in real life._ At least, not in her experience.

She’d known him, she realised. She was comfortable with him, trusted him. Trusted him enough to give herself over to him completely in bed. She never did that.

Who _was_ he?

And why was she having sex dreams about him each time she went on a date with Walsh?

Okay, it had only been twice. Two dates, two sex dreams. Two wasn’t a pattern.

But it was the beginning of a pattern.

Emma had another date with Walsh the day after tomorrow. She was already excited for it.

For the dream far more than for the date.

 

Killian groaned, cursing his weakness. He’d done it again, woken up drenched in his own cum, his mind flooded with images from his dream, images of sex with Emma so real they felt like actual memories, so real he could still taste her, could still feel her pulsing around his softening cock.

He’d hoped the first dream was just a fluke, and when a week had gone by in which Emma appeared in his dreams only as he expected to find her there, just on the edges, always outside the range of his grasp, he had begun to relax.

And now this. Worse than the first one in many ways, set entirely in unfamiliar places, his dream Emma speaking words the real one would never utter, telling him she wanted him, that she missed him, when that was impossible. She didn’t even remember him.

Where had the apartment come from, he wondered. He had little experience within the living spaces of her realm, and her apartment in his dream had borne little resemblance to the rooms above Granny’s or her parents’ loft. How had his mind conjured it? He recalled a conversation he’d overheard whilst handcuffed to a bed in Storybrooke’s hospital. Dr Whale speaking to a nurse about Belle. “There’s a lot about the mind we don’t know,” he’d said, “It sometimes works in ways we can’t anticipate.” Perhaps the answer was that simple. His mind was working in ways he could never have anticipated, producing things he was struggling to process. He wished it would stop. At this rate, he was never going to get over Emma.

_Let’s be honest, mate, getting over her was always a long shot,_ whispered a voice in his head. _Look how long it took you to get over Milah, and you love Emma far more deeply—_ “Enough!” said Killian aloud, quieting the voice. “I may never stop loving Emma, but that doesn’t mean I want to be plagued with dreams of fucking her every evening, dreams that seem real even when I know they can never be. Men have been driven mad by less.”

 

The day after tomorrow…  _Emma is already there when Killian arrives in the dream. She lounges on the bed, draped in a thin bedsheet and nothing else. It’s the same bed they were in before, only this time he can see that the bed is in a room in what seems to be a house, a room with large windows that are open, curtains billowing, the breeze carrying a hint of the sea._

_“Where are we?” he asks her._

_“I told you before, I don’t recognise it. Though I think it might be in Storybrooke.”_

_“How is it that you remember Storybrooke, Swan? How is it that you remember me?”_

_She shrugs. “It’s a dream. I won’t remember these details when I wake up.”_

_“It doesn’t feel like a dream.”_

_“It doesn’t, does it? But it must be, or I wouldn’t do this.” She lets the sheet slip off her shoulder, revealing her bare breasts and taut stomach, and the merest hint of the golden curls between her thighs. He swallows hard, his eyes drinking in her loveliness, and he realises that she is eyeing him in a similar way. He looks down and sees that he is naked, his cock standing up hard and proud, and bobbing slightly. He looks up again and meets her eyes._

_“You’re so hot, Hook,” she sighs. “I can’t believe you’re even hotter out of your ridiculous pirate clothes. Are you going to come over here and fuck me, or what?”_

_He hesitates. If this is a dream, he has no reason to hide his desires. “I wish you’d call me Killian,” he says._

_“Killian,” she repeats, and holds out her arms to him. “Come here.”_

_He wastes no more time, crawling into the bed and into her arms, feeling her wrap them tightly around him as he sinks down onto her, kissing her deeply, stroking his hand down her thigh and over her hip, then up her torso to cup her breast and rub his thumb across her nipple in the way he now knows she loves. She moans into his mouth as her fingers comb through the hair on his chest and she runs the ball of her foot up his calf and thigh before hooking her leg around his waist, urging him to thrust into her. But Killian realises that this dream is different: it seems less rushed, there’s no change of venue, their passion is softer and less wild than before. If he can’t prevent these dreams, he reasons, he might as well enjoy them, might as well take the opportunity to do to his dream Emma everything he longs to do to the real one. He snags her ankle with his hook and unwraps her leg from his waist, draping it over his shoulder as he kisses down her chest, pauses briefly to lick her nipple and suck it lightly between his teeth before trailing kisses down over her stomach stopping just above the apex of her thighs. He breathes deeply, inhaling the musky scent of her arousal, and she releases an unsteady breath. “Killian…” she says shakily. Her toes curl in anticipation and her hands fist themselves in the bedsheets._

_“Brace yourself, love,” he teases, and dives in._

_He licks her more roughly than he intended, the blood pounding in his ears and his own intense arousal robbing him of his usual finesse, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She moans and grips the sheets even more tightly. “More,” she demands, “More of that.”_

_He is happy to comply, stroking his tongue through her rosy flesh, dipping it inside her, swirling the tip around her clit, almost but not quite exactly where she wants him. She makes a choked, frustrated sound and he looks up at her through his lashes._

_“What do you want, Swan?” he growls. “Tell me.”_

_“I want you to lick me,” she says. “Lick my clit and suck on it, hard. Make me come.”_

_He is desperate to please her, but this is his dream, and he can have what he wants. He hovers over her, letting her feel his breath on her swollen nub. “Beg,” he tells her._

_Her breath hitches in excitement but she shakes her head. “Never.”_

_He blows a soft stream of air on her, holding her down as she pumps her hips, trying to reach him. “Beg me, Swan,” he commands in his pirate captain voice._

_She resists for all of five seconds. “Fuck,” she groans, “Fuck, Killian, please.” The pleading in her voice is genuine. “I’m begging you, damn it, make me come.”_

_“You had only to ask, darling,” he purrs, and latches his mouth onto her, sucking her between his lips and swiping his tongue roughly across her most sensitive spot. She comes almost instantly, with a hoarse scream, and he continues to lick her through it, prolonging her pleasure. She is boneless and shaking, but he shows her no mercy. Keeping her legs draped over his shoulders, he rises to his knees and thrusts himself inside her so hard she gasps, and braces her hands on the headboard to stop her head from slamming into it. He buries his hook in the wood again and lets himself go, fucking her hard and deep, knowing that here in his dream she will take whatever it pleases him to give her. She whimpers helplessly, her breath rasping in her throat. He wants her to come again, wants to come with her, to tumble into ecstasy together. He caresses her breast, more roughly this time, flicking the nipple with his thumb as he leans down to whisper in her ear. “You’re so beautiful, Emma,” he moans, “So beautiful when you come. Come for me again, love.” With a choked moan she does as he asks, digging her heels into his shoulders. Her walls clench around him, making him gasp as he explodes deep inside her. He rips his hook from the headboard and collapses, gathering her close to his side, then buries his face in her hair, knowing the dream is nearly over, needing to speak before it ends._

_“I love you, Emma,” he whispers. “You know that, don’t you?”_

_She nods. “I know. I— I have feelings for you too, Killian.”_

_They aren’t the words he longs to hear, but they are more than he ever thought he’d have, more than he could hope for anywhere but in his dreams. They are enough. He cuddles her close, clinging to her as the dream dissolves around them._

 

This time, the dream left Emma tangled in her sheets, limp and sated but with a strange yearning ache in her chest. The dream man had said he loved her, and she had recognised the truth in his words, felt that she had known it for some time. She had wanted to say the words back to him, but something had stopped her, had stopped the words in her throat, stopped her from voicing what she knew to be true.

Who the fuck _was_ he? _Where_ was he? Was he even real? How could she feel so strongly about a man who existed only in her mind? She felt that there were important details of her dreams that she couldn’t remember, things like his face, for one, and his name, which she was sure he’d told her, and how they knew each other so well that she would allow him such intimacies as he had demanded from her the night before.

She needed to see him again, and she rather thought she knew how he could be summoned. Three dates, three sex dreams. Three was a pattern. She needed to go out with Walsh again, and soon.

 

He was going to have to start washing his own sheets, Killian thought wryly, lest his crew take notice of his evident lack of self-control. He wondered a bit bleakly how long these dreams would continue. Each was more intense, more detailed than the last, and though there had been only three he feared that if they did not cease soon he might come to depend on them. A world where he could touch Emma in any way he pleased and she would welcome it, where he could speak his feelings openly to her, even though he knew it wasn’t real that was a powerful temptation indeed. Killian had seen men succumb to sirens, seen them taken in by pixie dust and Pan’s tricks in Neverland. He had felt nothing but pity for those men and their weakness, their inability to deal with reality, their preference for pleasant fiction over harsh fact. He had fought for much of his life against the lure of easy fantasy, yet now for the first time in nearly three hundred years he felt that he would happily leave reality behind, if it meant he could be with Emma.

_And that,_ he thought to himself, _is how men go mad_.

 

 Walsh held Emma’s hand as he walked her to her door. “I’ve really enjoyed our time together, Emma,” he said with a shy smile, and she nodded absently, her mind already consumed by thoughts of the night’s imminent dream. “Maybe you could come to my place tomorrow, and I’ll cook you dinner?” he suggested, and she jolted out of her reverie. “Tomorrow?” she said, trying not to sound too excited. Two sex dreams in a row, could she handle it? She decided she could. “Yeah, tomorrow will be great. See you then.” She gave him a light kiss on the cheek then turned away and entered her building, so eager to get to sleep that she entirely failed to notice the way Walsh’s happy smile twisted into something dark and menacing the moment her back was turned.

 

_Killian can tell immediately that this dream is different. There is no soft bed, no familiar surroundings. Instead, he stands in the yard of a farmhouse, icy wind swirling snow around him, chilling him to his bones. He looks for Emma, but she is not there._

_“Swan!” he calls._

_He hears her reply, faint and distant. “Killian!” she cries, and there is fear in her voice. He runs towards it, into the woods. There is the sound of wings, then a crash, then Emma shrieks in terror, and his heart nearly stops. He runs faster, bursting into a clearing and skidding to a halt, horrified at the sight that meets his eyes. Emma is standing with her back to a tree, a thick branch in her hands, fighting off what appear to be monkeys with wings. One approaches her and she swings the branch at it. It bursts into dust, sending her spinning with the force of her swing, and before she can regain her footing another monkey is upon her. Killian draws his cutlass and attacks it, swinging his sword in a wide arc that catches two of the simians at once. As they explode into particles, Killian snags Emma’s coat with his hook and pulls her behind him, stabbing a third monkey as it swoops at them. The final remaining monkey makes a grab for Emma, but she flings her branch at it, and when its dust clears Killian and Emma are alone. He drops his sword and spins around, pulling her roughly into his arms. “Are you all right, Swan?” he asks, brushing her hair back from her face as she closes her arms tightly around him and buries her face in his neck._

_“I’m fine,” she replies. “They just took me by surprise. Killian, it— it was Walsh.”_

_“Who?”_

_“Walsh. I’m kind of dating him.”_

_“You’re dating a flying monkey?”_

_“Well, obviously I didn’t know he was a flying monkey when I started dating him,” she snaps, and he is relieved that she has recovered enough to snark at him. She pulls out of his embrace and looks around. “I want to get out of here,” she says, and Killian does too but this dream is not as accommodating as the previous ones, and the clearing stubbornly refuses to change._

_Emma gasps, and he follows her gaze to where a tall, skinny man stands sneering at them. “Walsh,” she says in surprise, “I thought I’d—”_

_“Oh, it’s not that easy to get rid of me,” taunts Walsh. “I’ll be seeing you very soon, Emma, and when I do you’ll have forgotten all of this. You’ll remember it, of course, Hook, not that it will do you any good. I’m in her realm, and soon I’ll be in her bed and in her heart, and she’ll be in my control.”_

_Killian snarls and lunges at Walsh, but the dream begins to swirl around them and the other man is gone. He turns and reaches for Emma, holding her close as the dream pulls at them, tries to tear them apart. “I’m coming for you, Swan,” he says fiercely, even as the dream rips her from his arms. “I love you and I am coming to find you, I swear it.”_

_She tries to hold on, clinging to his hand for as long as she can. “Killian, I lo—,” she says, and then everything is black._

 

Killian was out of bed and half dressed before he even fully awoke. The images from the dream were pounding in his brain, filling him with an urgency that bordered on panic. He knew now beyond any doubt that the dream was real, that they had all been real. Emma was in danger and he had to get to her, somehow, and soon, before she saw the monkey-man again. His options were slim. He knew of only one way to move through realms, and that was with a magic bean, and he knew of only one way to get a magic bean. He also knew what the price for it was likely to be. His heart twisted at thought of paying it, but he did not hesitate. Emma needed him and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her, nothing he wouldn’t sacrifice to save her. He paused for one last long look at his ship, then turned away and moved purposefully through the crowds towards the darkest corner of Tortuga.

 

Emma awoke feeling deeply rested and crushingly disappointed. There had been no dream, no blue-eyed man with his rough but gentle hand and his deep voice that rumbled through her body when he held her close. _So much for my pattern,_ she thought. 

She wanted to cry, which was ridiculous. She was a grown woman with a child to look after, not a lovesick teenager weeping because she’d missed seeing her crush.

Dragging herself out of bed she headed for the kitchen to make breakfast.

_Pancakes today_ , she thought, _I definitely need some pancakes._

Emma and Henry had just sat down to breakfast when there was a knock at the door. They exchanged surprised looks.

“Someone coming over?” asked Henry.

“No,” said Emma, eyes widening as the knock came again, louder and more insistent this time. “Henry, wait here,” she said, getting up and switching off the radio as she went to the door. She opened it, and gaped for a moment at the man on the other side. He was dressed head to toe in black leather, somehow looking much less ridiculous and far more attractive than he should have in such a getup. She had never seen his face before, but his eyes… she caught her breath.

She knew those eyes.

“Swan,” he said, looking at her like she was the most precious thing in the world to him, and she knew his voice too, recognised the way it spoke her name.

“I know you can’t remember me, but—”

She did remember him, though. How could she not? He was literally the man of her dreams.

Driven by instinct, she grabbed the collar of his absurd coat and pulled his lips to hers, into a kiss that was achingly familiar.

Bright white light burst from their joined lips, and Emma remembered.

She remembered him.

She remembered everything.

 

 

_"A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality." --Yoko Ono_


End file.
